


Whose Richard?

by WhereTheRoadsMeet



Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom, Martin Freeman - Fandom, Real Person Fiction, Sherlock (TV) RPF
Genre: Drunkenness, M/M, also cocks, comparing characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-03
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2018-02-19 17:06:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2396117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhereTheRoadsMeet/pseuds/WhereTheRoadsMeet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Benedict and Martin inevitably discuss whose portrayal of Richard the Third is superior. However, discussing it over drinks in the pub probably wasn't the wisest move.<br/>Neither was extending the competition....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whose Richard?

**Author's Note:**

> I know neither Benedict Cumberbatch nor Martin Freeman. Additionally, I know none of the other people mentioned in this fic.  
> It is PURELY a work of fiction, and a very silly one at that.
> 
> I have nothing but an abounding respect for everyone mentioned here-in.

“Bollocks. That’s just…..bollocks” Martin’s words were slurred and slow with too many drinks.

“Tall people look more regal….” Benedict tapped the tabletop as if it would make his argument more persuasive, “…it’s just a fact…or a law..or…something.”

“Is utter shit…is what it is.”

Ben raised his hands as if in surrender, “Don’t blame me…I don’t make the rules.” He lifted his scotch glass to his lips, and then frowned seeing it was empty, again.

“I don’t care what you say…” Martin swayed in his chair, “My Richard is better than yours…..mate.”

“I’ve got a horse.” Ben’s tone gave every indication that he thought this was an important distinction.

“Yeah…well I’ve got a beard. Can you grow a beard like this?…” he stroked it lovingly, “No….takes a man to grow a beard like this.”

Ben frowned, his manhood having taken a major blow, but recovered quickly, “One word……” he pause for dramatic effect, “Dame….Judy…….Dench.”

“Three words….that’s three words you idiot.” Martin was struggling to hold in the laughter.

Ben continued, “….and Andrew’s working on mine…what does that tell you?”

“Tells me you fluttered those big girly lashes at him and he tripped over his own feet to sign up.” Martin knew the moment the words left his mouth he may have crossed a line, but Ben just laughed.

“So….how do we solve this?” Ben looked sadly at his empty Scotch glass and considered yet another refill.

Martin’s eyes widened, “I’ve got it!” He struggled to his feet, pulled out his chair and motioned to Ben to help him up onto the table, where he stood wobbling alarmingly and tapped on his glass.

<Cough> “Excuse me…. _tink tink tink…_ EXCUSE ME! Bit of attention over here. My mate here and I are trying to settle an argument.”

A hush fell on the room, This was a local watering hole for celebrities so most patron’s paid little mind, but Martin Freeman standing drunk on a table was always going to draw a crowd.

“Hi…..I’m Martin Freeman” He managed a fairly uncoordinated bow, “You may know me from such BAFTA award winning roles as Sherlock…and..Fargo…and …umm….That Hobbit thing.” Scattered laughs rumbled through the pub, “And this guy in the bad disguise is the guy that invariable makes me look good, Benedict Cumberbatch.” More laughter and some applause. Ben got up from his chair and headed to the bar for another round.

Martin continued, “Some of you may have heard that we’re both doing the same play at the moment, a little ditty by Shakespeare. So….what we want to know is….” Martin had the rapt attention of the crowd, all eyes on him, “If you were buying tickets…whose Richard would you want to see…his or mine?”

A hush fell on the room….there were a few gasps, then a couple of stifled giggles. Across the room, an alternate interpretation of Martin’s words managed to penetrate Ben’s Scotch-addled brain and his glass fell from his fingers, shattering on the floor.

Martin stood in the centre of the silence, the eye of the storm as Ben made his way back and pulled Martin from the table. Suddenly sober, Ben whispered urgently in his ear, “You realise you’ve just asked the room if they’d pay to see our cocks.”

Martin looked up foggily asking for confirmation as to what he’d just heard and Ben nodded tensely.

The laughing in the room built in volume, punctuated with catcalls and wolf-whistles, “Holmes and Watson want to know who’s got the bigger cock…..Would’ve thought they already knew, from what the fangirls say.” More laughter erupted, good natured and light-hearted.

Nevertheless, Ben and Martin thought it best to make a quick, if not subtle escape.

@@@@

Twenty minutes later, and five minutes from Ben’s home, Martin was still a dog with a bone, “So….you admit it?”

“That yours is the stronger performance as Richard? OK, I’ll give you that. You nailed the light and shade in the character, and you had the audience in the palm of your hand every night.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“But my cock’s bigger.” Ben sniggered as Martin’s casual amble slowed to a stop and Ben strode onward.

“Whoa….wait up….what?” Martin hurried to catch up.

“Just saying, if we’d put it to the vote at the pub, you’d have lost.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Well, not to put too fine a point on it, we’ve crossed paths in the dressing rooms often enough, six foot here….5 foot 6 there, stand to reason….obviously.”

Martin rolled his eyes, “It’s not all about length, Cumberbatch, and you damn well know it.”

“Not what the ladies say….”

“Hey, never had any complaints here either, mate.”

They walked on in stony silence for a few minutes before Benedict broke the tension, “I don’t see there’s any way we can resolve this.”

“We could ask for an outside opinion. Amanda would be up for it, purely from an aesthetic point of view, mind….no touching.”

“Oh yes….brilliant. And how exactly would that conversation go in practice? _‘Excuse me Amanda, Martin wants to know who’s cock you prefer…his or mine.’_ You don’t think she might be biased?”

Martin conceded he had a point. He sheepishly suggested Loo.

“No….We are absolutely NOT bringing Louise into this tawdry little show and tell.”

“Well then, who?”

“We need someone who knows a good cock when he sees it.” Ben keyed his door code into the entrance lock of his home.

Martin whispered quietly, “Andrew likes cocks….”

Ben paused, considering, “Actually….Andrew Scott LOVES cocks.” He nodded slowly.

“We’ll need a quorum….to be fair.”

Ben shook his head, mystified how a quiet evening at a pub could evolve into a panel discussion about the relative desirability of he and his co-star’s privates. “Seriously?”

“To be fair,” said Martin gravely, but a smile was toying at the corners of his mouth, “Wouldn’t want you saying I’d cheated.

“God…OK! So, Andrew and….who else…Gatiss?” Ben threw his hands in the air, “Why not invite the entire cast, “This is crazy, Martin!”

“Then just admit mine’s better and this will all go away. I’ll never mention it again.”

“Never?” Ben was sorely tempted to take him up on the offer as they climbed the stairs.

“Hand on heart, you’ll never hear me mention it again…..” Martin followed, closing the door behind himself and adding, “But of course….We’ll always know…won’t we?”

If there was one thing Benedict Cumberbatch couldn’t stand, it was Martin pushing his buttons. He knew just where to bait him, and he almost unfailingly rose to the challenge. With a sigh, he knew this would be no different.

“Alright…alright…Mark takes the second seat. I’m scared to ask, but you already have someone in mind for the third…who is it.”

“You reckon Stephen Fry would be up for it.”

Ben laughed, “I reckon Fry’s always up for it, but yes, he’d get a giggle out of the simple fact that we’d formed a cock-judging panel.

“So…” Martin took the glass of single malt from his friend in the quiet warmth of his sitting room, “..Next Saturday?”

“If we must.”

“Oh….we must…we really must.”


End file.
